


Set Props

by EvilMuffins



Category: Dangan Ronpa, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: Ouma let himself fall backward onto the chair, aluminum legs creaking with the weight of two people. “Aren’t you afraid that someone will come looking for you, Mr. Popular?” He breathed, his punctuating giggle already ragged around the edges as Saihara pulled back for air.His beloved Saihara-chan taking charge? Had Ouma any inclination to believe that there was a place for him in Heaven, he might have began to wonder if he hadn’t been already killed.
Relationships: Ouma Kokichi/Saihara Shuuichi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 161
Collections: SaiOu Winter Exchange 2019





	Set Props

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alerane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alerane/gifts).



“Hmm…” Ouma hummed into the crook of Saihara’s neck, eliciting a shudder. “I wonder…”

“Wonder what?” Saihara breathed, raising his head up as best he could. 

Still straddling Saihara’s lap, Ouma pushed himself upright as he shouted, “If Saihara-chan would still be this quiet if he wasn’t afraid of being caught!”

Saihara’s eyes grew wide, as any color that had been blossoming there-- as a result of Ouma’s lips touching down all over his neck--drained from his cheeks. “Keep it down!” he hissed. 

Ouma shrugged. Maybe they would get walked in on eventually, but would it really have been that big of a deal? It wasn’t as if he had many fans among the remaining students. Everyone would just assume that he was in the midst of some evil plot to seduce their innocent, unassuming Saihara-chan. Hell, it might even work in his favor. 

Shifting himself, Ouma let his head fall against Saihara’s chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. 

The sofa in Toujou’s lab wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it had looked, almost as if it had meant to be a prop rather than sat on, and certainly not for two people attempting (and largely failing) to make out all over it. Either way, it wasn’t as if Toujou herself would ever be using it for anything ever again. 

A hand came to rest on the back of Ouma’s neck, and it took everything he had to not bolt from the room. Although he should learn to expect it, Saihara’s shy acts of tenderness always took him by surprise. Their stolen moments together had never been meant as anything more than stress release, but maybe petting Ouma’s hair _was_ a form of stress release for someone as high-strung as Saihara was. It wasn’t as if they had ever gotten very far during one of their little rendevous, anyway. Mostly, they just fumbled for twenty minutes before slinking off to their respective dorm rooms. 

After a few peaceful moments of lying there entangled, Ouma whispered, “Do you hear footsteps?” 

If it weren’t for the fact that Ouma was laying on top of him, Saihara would have toppled off the couch. 

“Ouma-kun…” He sighed, gingerly wriggling his way out form underneath the smaller boy, as if a rather large and troublesome cat had settled onto his lap. “It’s getting late…”

“And you want to move this somewhere more comfortable? Got it.” Ouma winked with his entire face. 

Saihara rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, alright?” He made his escape through the doorway, leaving Ouma alone in the empty dining hall. 

He could just follow along after, trotting right out the door and down the hall together, like two regular high school students on their way home from class. Nothing was stopping him, really. 

Instead, Ouma buried his face in his hands.

* * *

Breakfast the next day went along much the same as usual, although the food wasn’t nearly as good as when Toujou had been in charge of their meals. The majority vote had placed Saihara in charge for the morning. Thankfully, there had been enough frozen microwavable meals in the freezer for everyone. 

“Not much of a chef, are we?” Ouma smirked, cornering Saihara outside the door to the pool area afterward. Why he had wandered back there in first place was anyone’s guess, but Ouma had found him all the same. For someone so soft-spoken, Saihara didn’t have much of a talent for sneaking. 

If Saihara was startled by Ouma’s sudden appearance, he managed to hide it well, giving a half shrug instead. 

“My uncle was always too busy to cook, so I never really learned how. I like frozen, so it doesn’t really matter anyway, but sometimes I think it might just be because I don’t know any better,” Saihara finished with a weak chuckle. 

“That’s okay!” Ouma reassured him, pulling open the glass door and ushering Saihara inside. “I’m sure there are _lots_ of other things Saihara-chan is good at instead!”

Ouma giggled, flopping onto onto one of the beach chairs and putting his feet up. He missed the beach. DICE always took their yearly team-building field trips there, and burying someone up to the neck in sand until nothing could be seen but their clown mask always made for a good time. 

“Hey, Saihara-chan?”

“Hmm?” Saihara stood awkwardly on the tile floor, unsure what to do with himself, which basically seemed to be his default setting. Generally, Ouma found his constant unease to be somewhat fascinating. He was always on, always aware of his surrounds and the people he was with, allowing him to notice details that others overlooked. 

“Do you like the beach?” Ouma wasn’t certain why he chose that of all questions to ask. Personal questions weren’t the best idea in their situation, generally speaking. They were just screwing around. The higher their mutual stack of little bits and bobs of understanding and caring piled up and grew, the harder the the entire thing would come crashing down on him later on. 

Saihara grew thoughtful, giving the simple question more consideration than it was due. “I mean, I guess? I haven’t been there since I was little, back before I went to live with my uncle.”

Ouma nodded, resting his arms behind his head, staring up toward the window facing into the gym. “I’ll take you there once we get out of here.”

“Oh… Oh, er, alright…” 

Ouma wasn’t certain how someone could blush with his voice alone, but there it was. 

“...Did I sound like our dear departed Amami-chan just now?” Ouma grinned, springing up to perch on the edge of the chair instead. “I’m just kidding of course. Sand between my delicate little toes? Eww, no thank you, sir! Besides, I’m not even sure why I asked anyway. I can read your mind, so questions are kinda useless, ya know?”

“That is a lie,” Saihara said patiently. 

Ouma cocked his head to the side, eyes filled with as much innocence as the shallow pool held water. “Is it? Because I know why you were skulking around the poolhouse like a skeevy pervert.”

Saihara crossed his arms, patience now beginning to fray. The truth wasn’t always easy to hear, was it? “Try me.”

“You were hoping that I would show up like I always do so you could fuck me,” Ouma said conversationally. “If anyone else came along, it would just look like you were playing detective as usual.”

“I…” Saihara sputtered, the flush in his cheeks deepening. Maybe this would finally be the time he got fed up and left before they even did anything. That would be new, at least. Frustrating, lonely, but novel. Exciting. 

Ouma watched with interest as Saihara’s hands balled up at his sides, mouth and brows alike drawing into stern lines as he marched over to where Ouma sat. 

Was he finally going to punch him? Had he really been spending too much time with Momota, after all? Ouma’s heart skipped a beat.

_Exciting._

Saihara’s hands were on his shoulders, lips mashing into his own with all the grace of a scared teenage boy who had finally let loose the floodgate of emotions welling up inside of him. 

Ouma let himself fall backward onto the chair, aluminum legs creaking with the weight of two people. “Aren’t you afraid that someone will come looking for you, Mr. Popular?” He breathed, his punctuating giggle already ragged around the edges as Saihara pulled back for air. 

His beloved Saihara-chan taking charge? Had Ouma any inclination to believe that there was a place for him in Heaven, he might have began to wonder if he hadn’t been already killed.

Lips pressed hotly against Ouma’s throat, rather than open to speak a word of protest. 

Saihara wasn’t an idiot- No one was coming. Even someone as apprehensive as he was could see it. 

As much as the remaining students enjoyed his company--some more so than others--it was obviously due in part to the fact that Saihara was the one to seek _them_ out. 

_You’re not special_ , Ouma reminded himself, despite the clumsily attentive mouth lavishing his exposed collarbone. Uncertain where the heat of Saihara’s breath against his skin began, and the growing warmth of his own body ended, Ouma found just enough presence of mind to fumble with his rainbow of buttons. Shirt falling open, Saihara was granted full access to his slight chest. Touches and kisses so light that if Ouma had dared to close his eyes, he might have thought that Saihara had disappeared entirely.

All the while, in the back of his mind, Ouma wondered if he should reciprocate. He was _tired,_ tired of the killing, tired of the hunt for answers and freedom. The urge to surrender to a gentle pair of hands overwhelmed him in a way that no other game ever had. For once in his life Ouma Kokichi wanted to lose. Lose himself and drown in a maelstrom of new sensation at the hands of the one he loved most. 

Limbs heavy with disbelief, Ouma wrapped his arms around Saihara’s clothed back. He fought the urge to untangle himself as Saihara froze beneath his touch, muscles stiff. 

_Run, run, run away… don’t get too close… he doesn’t want *you*…!! He’s bored….lonely..._

“Can I...?” 

Ouma almost didn’t hear the shaky whisper over the cacophony rattling round his own head, nearly missed the finger tips lingering at his waistband. 

“I don’t know, _can_ you?” Ouma challenged, voice struggling out in a weak croak. He could just leave, and Saihara would never speak of this again. They both knew that he wouldn’t. 

Saihara frowned, fingers drawing back a fraction of an inch. 

“Oh what the hey, this could be fun! I like a new game as much the next guy,” Ouma cracked a grin, one that he hoped reached his eyes. 

“...’Game’?” Saihara repeated, tone hushed, hand still hovering. “Is even _this_ nothing more than another game to you?”

Ouma’s heart clenched. “We’re fuckbuddies, Saihara-chan!” he chirped, for once telling what must have been the truth, or at least might be soon enough if Saihara bit the bullet. 

Eyes growing wide, Saihara’s mouth fell open before closing again, forming into a stern line. “Ouma-kun...I,” he paused, took a deep breath, “I _care_ about you.”

Ouma blinked. 

“...Oh.”

“‘Oh’?” Saihara repeated cautiously, and Ouma could feel the tension in his thighs, pressed against Ouma’s own. 

“In that case, I guess I don’t mind if you want to continue. Even if we don’t exactly share the same feelings,” he declared flippantly.

Saihara’s face fell for a moment, before hardening in determination. “You’re lying.”

Cryptically, Ouma raised a fingertip to his lips obscuring his grin. “Is it?” 

Whenever Saihara had saw through one of his lies, a wave of gleeful satisfaction had rushed over him. This time, however, it was all mixed up with something else into a tight little knot, one that only Shuuichi Saihara had the means to unravel. 

Ouma’s hand was soon guided aside, traded for lips melting into his own.


End file.
